


No Hiding Place

by MiraMira



Category: Ender Series - Orson Scott Card
Genre: Character Study, F/M, Female Protagonist, Friendship, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Love/Hate, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-28
Updated: 2014-08-28
Packaged: 2018-02-15 03:10:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2213574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiraMira/pseuds/MiraMira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Petra left Battle School, she did her best to forget the reasons she had loved it.  Then she came home to find an almost-familiar face in her kitchen...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Went to the Rock

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Alixtii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alixtii/gifts).



> Thank you for giving me the chance to revisit the post- _Ender's Shadow_ world in my own fashion, Alixtii. I'm not sure my Peter is quite as twisted as your preferred take, but I hope Petra comes across as true to herself.
> 
> Story and chapter titles from the song "[No Hiding Place](http://www.songlyrics.com/dorothy-love-coates/no-hiding-place-lyrics/)".
> 
> A note on setting: while this story incorporates some of the geopolitical situation and plot points from _Shadow of the Hegemon_ , _Shadow Puppets_ , and _Shadow of the Giant_ and may therefore contain spoilers, it makes no attempt at canon compliance and no apologies for this decision. Proceed at your own risk.

“You have a visitor,” Petra's mother informed her as she walked in.

Petra's knapsack slid halfway down her arm as she noted the set of her mother's shoulders, and felt an echoing tension begin to pulse through her own body. “What kind?”

“Just go talk to him,” said her mother, still unable to look her directly in the eye.

Petra took a slow step into the kitchen, gripping the knapsack with one hand in case she needed an improvised weapon. A single glance at her guest, and it slid to the ground, forgotten.

“Ender,” she gasped. 

Then she examined him more closely, and her grin died almost before she knew it had formed. This boy was older, his hair a shade lighter, the face a touch sharper. But the true difference was in the eyes. When she spoke, they had flashed with a hatred she had never seen in Ender's: not even when facing Bonzo, or on the last day of the war.

It was almost unnerving enough to frighten her into taking a step back. But it also told her exactly who he was, and that knowledge straightened her spine. If she couldn't have her commander back, she could at least refuse to bow before the one enemy he had never truly beaten.

“I'm sorry,” she said, feeling a sharper version of her previous smile creeping across her lips as she added, “You must get that a lot.”

“Not so much any more,” said Peter Wiggin, mirroring her grin.

Slowly, Petra poured herself a glass of water. Without offering Peter anything, she seated herself across the table from him. “Since you're obviously not here for nostalgic reasons, what brings you all the way to Armenia?”

“Obviously?” he echoed, still smiling. “I can't be curious about my little brother's best friends?”

“As I understand it, you're not much for sentimentality.” She took a long, deliberate sip. “And I very much doubt this is a pleasure trip, Locke.”

To his credit, he barely blinked. “Not that I'm not flattered by the inference, but I've no idea where you'd get that notion from.”

“I take it you haven't paid a visit to Bean yet, then. Or that he refused to see you.”

“The former.” That surprised her. While the press had focused a disproportionate amount of attention on her, she didn't fool herself that anyone had come away from those articles impressed by anything other than the mere fact of her gender. Then again, Bean had done a remarkable job of passing himself off as a different sort of mascot, as she reminded herself when Peter continued, “Though that may have been a mistake. After all, I suppose he couldn't have gotten into Battle School so early based on his physical test scores.”

“Too late. You're stuck with me.” She immediately regretted the hint of permanence in the expression, but pressed on. “And I'd appreciate it if you didn't insult _my_ intelligence by dancing around the truth.”

“Very well.” He reached across the table for her water glass and drank deeply. “You're right. Or at least Bean is. And if he can figure it out, others can as well. Some already have. I'll need to go public soon. I'd like some support when I do.”

Petra started to ask a question, then remembered Bean had already answered it for her. And realized, in the same moment, why Peter Wiggin might have begun by approaching the only female in Ender's jeesh. “I won't be your replacement Demosthenes.”

There it was again, that spark of anger, like a pulse of magma leaping over the rim of a volcano. And something else this time, too: something that warned her not to tempt further eruptions. “You couldn't possibly.”

“Fair enough,” she demurred. “Then what do you want me for?”

“The same thing Ender did. Your keen grasp of military strategy. Your ability to lead troops in the field. Your refusal to surrender under pressure.”

 _All of which failed me when he needed them most,_ she thought, and then banished from her mind before any hint of that despair could transcribe itself on to her expression. “Sorry. I'm retired.”

“You think so?” Peter leaned toward her, close enough that she could smell a hint of too-strong aftershave. The scent almost forced her to stifle a giggle. He might be the great and powerful Locke, with (if Bean was right) limitless ambition and a questionable sense of restraint or morality. But on some level, he was still just a teenage boy come courting.

“I know so,” she said, leaning back casually in lieu of laughter. “No matter who's making the offer.”

The slightest trace of a sneer tugged at his lips. “Really? And if the next prospective employer holds a gun to your dear mother's head? Surely I get some credit for asking politely.”

“I appreciate you deciding that tactic would be counterproductive, yes.” She snagged the water glass back, halting its momentum just before the contents could slosh over the rim. “But if you're trying to convince me it didn't cross your mind, I'd like to remind you of my earlier request.”

“Forgive me,” he snapped. “I'm finding that a bit difficult when you're the one trying to convince me you can remain neutral in a world where Achilles de Flandres is on the move.”

“Ah- _sheel_ ,” she corrected his pronunciation, hoping even a brief distraction would provide enough time to halt the shiver coursing down her spine. Nothing, alas, was sufficient to fight off her curiosity. “And just what hole has he crawled out of?”

Peter's eyes gleamed. “From what my sources tell me, Russia. Practically next door.”

A long silence followed this announcement.

“If it's Achilles you're hunting, it's Bean you want,” Petra managed at last. _And if he asks for my help again..._ But no. Bean didn't need her to pass that message along. Least of all through this messenger.

“Then it's off to Greece for me.” He pushed back from the table and stood, holding out his hand. Reluctantly, she did the same, less relieved than she expected when he opted for a firm shake rather than a kiss. “I wish you the very best of luck in your retirement.”

“Thank you,” she said, and meant it. Once again, he'd surprised her with something approaching sincerity. She rewarded it with the tiniest of smiles. “For what it's worth, as prospective employers go, you might not be the worst possible option.”

“I'll tell Bean you said as much.” He fired off a crisp salute, stepped over the fallen knapsack without breaking stride, and was gone.

The instant the door closed behind him, Petra's mother rushed in and gathered her into her arms, raining tears down both their cheeks. “I thought you would leave with him.”

“No,” she said, ignoring the tiny, treacherous voice in the back of her head that whispered, _Not yet._


	2. Sinners Start Runnin'

Three weeks later, she turned on the news and learned that Bean and Nikolai were dead.

Which didn't mean they _were_ dead, of course. Especially Bean. She doubted the boy who had his first taste of combat in the slums of Rotterdam at an age when other Battle School candidates were still only soldiers in theory would be taken out by a random terrorist attack, though it might benefit his enemies to think so. But whether assassination attempt or cover-up, the incident was undeniably alarming.

“I want to go to the funeral,” she told her parents, hoping they would pick up on the subtext: _we're not safe here_.

As she kept having to remind herself, just because they weren't as smart as her didn't make them stupid. “We'll take your brothers along,” said her father, with a quick, conspiratorial glance at her mother. “Travel will be educational for them.”

She wasn't sure Stefan got much out of the trip, other than that splitting up so that he and their mother could travel from Armenia to Greece by way of Johannesburg, Rio de Janeiro, and London (David squalling in their laps all the way) was the sort of paranoia his family now accepted as a matter of course. Meanwhile, Petra and her father took the diversionary tactic of purchasing tickets for a direct flight under their own names, followed by the even more confounding gambit of actually boarding. 

By some miracle, the only hassle they encountered along the way was a persistent blogger to whom Petra only granted an interview in the hopes his presence might deter any assailants. And after shutting down his fifth variation on the question “Do you have a boyfriend?”, she stopped feeling guilty about the possibility it might not.

Their reunion at the service lasted only a few moments, as Petra ignored both the pew reserved for her family and her mother's dismayed expression, and made for a row toward the back of the church.

“Reconsidering?” Peter murmured as she slid into the spot beside him.

She lowered her voice even further than his. “First convince me you're not responsible for that,” she said, pointing at the smallest casket.

He raised an eyebrow. “Would you really have come all this way if you thought I might be?”

“I'm not ruling out the possibility you had a good reason,” she replied primly. “Or thought you did. It won't save you, but the alternative will be slower and more painful.”

Half the church turned to glare at Peter's burst of laughter. “Sorry,” he said, making a conciliatory gesture in their direction, though his eyes remained fixed on Petra. “That wasn't intended as a slight.”

“Good. Because I'm not joking, and you're stalling.”

He bowed his head as if in apology, then, seemingly distracted again as he lifted his gaze, drew her attention to a stooped, wimple-clad figure. “That's Sister Clara of Rotterdam, here on behalf of Bean's orphanage. Sister Carlotta, alas, was detained by more urgent business.”

Sister Carlotta: if not the first or the best friend Bean had ever known, then the one most directly responsible for Petra's presence at this service by setting him on the path to Battle School. There was only one possible reason she would not have moved heaven and earth to bid him farewell in person. 

Peter nodded, once, and Petra struggled to compose herself. It would not do to further disturb the mourners by grinning like a lunatic.

“A shame we arrived too late for the viewing,” she observed instead.

“I understand there will be a separate event elsewhere,” said Peter. “Details not available to the general public, unfortunately. Even respected veterans.”

It was her turn now to lift an eyebrow. “And who, pray tell, are you if not the general public, Mr. Wiggin?”

“Also classified information, I'm afraid. For at least the next few days.” He flashed a taunting smile. “I _could_ arrange an advance briefing, but...I was under the impression that sort of thing didn't interest you any more?”

 _Interest was never the sticking point, Wiggin._ Even now, she felt it: the tensing of muscles long unused, the hollowness in her stomach somewhere between fear and hunger for the kill, every nerve ending crackling with anticipation.

The call of the battleroom. She'd let herself forget so she wouldn't miss it; blocked it out with the memory of her failure. But even her mother had known that one day, she would come home to find it where it had always been, waiting to show her she didn't yet know what it was to lose. 

Because no matter what her instincts told her, it wasn't a game. Ender had taught her that. And Peter would learn. Did she really want to be his teacher? 

Or the lesson?

“I'll have to consult with my family,” was all she said.

“Of course,” he replied, the smile now a full, triumphant smirk. “But please, assure them I have their best interests at heart every bit as much as you do.”

Petra, blood still thrumming a battle-march through her veins, stayed silent.


	3. World Catch on Fire

“Congratulations,” said Bean. Ignoring Petra's scowl, he grinned and pointed at the exact spot on her collar where the commander insignia dug into her neck. “It looks good on you.”

“Yeah?” she snapped. “Funny story. I'm only wearing it because _some_ oomay decided it'd be fun to take out a rising dictator all by himself.”

Bean shrugged. “I did it, didn't I?”

“You did,” Petra conceded. “Meanwhile, I'm stuck fighting a war with no assets but our little army and a handful of allies desperate to neutralize Achilles so they could go back to fighting each other. And Peter, who refused to believe I didn't know where you were or the details of what you were planning. The _only_ thing that's gotten me through the past two-and-a-half months was knowing that sooner or later, I'd be able to hand this back to you.”

Well, not _quite_ the only thing. But she wasn't about to tell Bean that. Instead, she unpinned the insignia and hurled it at him.

He made no move to pick it up.

“You...emossin', kuso-eating...” She didn't know where all the Battle School talk was coming from. Maybe she'd been clinging harder than even she knew to the certainty Bean would cover for her, the way he had the last time she'd reached her limit. The burden of temporary command had worn her down; without that reassurance, there was nothing left in her but the exposed core. If she wasn't careful, the next step would be meltdown.

“Do you know why I went to kill Achilles on my own?” Bean asked.

She barely had enough time to register the undertone warning her she might not want the answer before he continued. “Because I knew I could do it, but I didn't know if I could do it without somebody other than him getting killed. And I'm already dying.”

Petra stared him in the face; studied his calm, dry-eyed expression. “As we all are?”

“No. Nothing about me has ever been like anyone else.” That inescapable fact, stated dispassionately, drove the announcement deeper under Petra's skin, closer to piercing her heart. “I just know why now.”

Still in the same clinical (she would not, could not call it _dead_ ) tone, he told her what he had learned from Sister Carlotta, who had learned it from the Russian scientist Anton. That his remarkable, ever-learning brain was supported by an unsustainable, ever-growing body, and the growth spurt about which she had teased him the day before his departure was the first sign of the oncoming cytokinetic catastrophe.

“How long?” she heard herself ask from a distance.

He shrugged again. “The odds I'll see twenty are almost too small for me to calculate. But the only thing I ever asked out of life was justice for Poke, and every victim who followed her. Battle School was just something that happened along the way. Now I've done what I set out to do, fighting's lost its appeal.”

“What about us?” The words slipped out before she could stop herself. How she'd scorned that phrase every time Peter had used it to rail against Bean's absence, never hesitating to point out that _us_ in this context could only mean _me_. “The Goddess alone knows what India will do now they don't have Achilles to worry about. And the Caliphate... _Alai_ , Bean.” Tears slipped from her eyes. “I don't know that I can fight Alai.”

“Then don't.” Bean took her hands in his. “Leave it to Suri or Dink or Han Tzu. Or join him, if you think he's got the right of it. You don't owe Peter anything.”

Petra's fingers stiffened involuntarily under his grip.

He let go, and his eyes narrowed – then worse still, filled with pity as her cheeks started to burn. “Oh, Petra. You _didn't_.”

“It was my idea.” The blush had already said all that needed to be said, but now that she'd been caught, she couldn't seem to stop herself from confessing. “We'd been arguing over where to commit the bulk of our forces, and I would've done anything to just shut him up for five minutes. I didn't expect it to lead there.” _I didn't think I'd like it. Or that he'd use my name._

Bean continued to stare. If someone else had walked in on the scene, Petra thought, they'd probably identify her as the one who'd just acknowledged a terminal illness.

“It's not love,” she insisted. “It's...I don't know what it is. But it's not the reason I need to find a way to see this through.” She fumbled for his hand. “Someone has to make sure you don't get written out of the history books. Or that there are history books to write.”

“All right,” said Bean, squeezing back briefly. Then he added, deadpan: “But if you are under some kind of sex-induced Stockholm syndrome, remember: the enemy's gate is down.”

Petra laughed until she started crying again.


	4. To the Rocks and the Mountains

“I'm leaving.”

The Hegemon didn't even look up from his paperwork. “Another jaunt to visit old schoolmates? Who is it this time? Dink Meeker?”

She refused to rise to the hint of mocking jealousy. “Hyrum Graff.”

Peter turned.

“I came up with the 'new worlds to conquer' plan,” Petra reminded him. “With some help from Bean, granted, but do you think I'd have pushed it so hard if I didn't believe in it?”

He shook his head. “You've never cared about conquest.”

“Bull kuso,” she scoffed. “I went to Battle School. I was the commander of Phoenix Army. I made us the force we needed to be to convince my classmates they should try their luck off-planet instead. And you're the one who reminded me how much I like winning.”

“So do I.” Ah, there at last was the fury she'd been expecting. “Bean's gone. You're leaving. Have you thought about what will happen when there's no one to keep me in check?” 

“My brothers aren't going anywhere. Granted, Stefan probably doesn't have the stomach for anything stronger than diplomatic training, but David shows promise.”

“Be serious.” His eyes blazed. “All those nights in the strategy room, positioning our troop markers in preparation for where we would place the real ones. All those times I grew angry or frustrated or just plain bored and nearly swept the map clean, only for you to restrain me. Have you thought about that?”

Petra felt her expression soften. “Yes, I've thought about it. Lately, I haven't been able to think about anything else.” She walked over slowly, resting an arm on the back of his chair. “Remember how I told you I would never be your Demosthenes?”

“And I told you that was impossible.” The first time he'd said it, he'd given her a glimpse behind both the charming facade that was all most people knew of Locke or the Hegemon and the savagery even the Battle School commanders feared unleashing, to the boy who knew loss even if he hadn't yet known death. At this moment, he seemed a million light-years away, his gaze utterly inscrutable. 

“If I'd had the power when _she_ went with Ender, I'd never have let her get further than the length of this room,” he told her, in a voice that reminded her of the day Bean had announced he was dying. “Now I have it, and I know I won't even try to stop you. What do you think that means?”

“I don't know. But I choose to believe it means there's hope for you.” Her lips grazed his forehead – the only gentle kiss she'd ever given him. “For all of us, maybe.” 

And so Petra Arkanian left Earth, in search of her greatest living teacher and the woman she no longer feared becoming.

She looked a long time.


End file.
